Songs of the Unsung
by semiiramiis
Summary: "For a people that marked their lives and accomplishments in the sagas sung about them, becoming a historian was akin to death without children. His own life would pass, unsung, unnoticed except in those books his brothers and sisters guarded and cultivated. How to explain the value of being a part of something like the Priory?"
1. Chapter 1

Prologue/Sworn

The snow showed no signs of abating, and Svengr paused in his monotonous trudge through its depths. If anything, the snowfall seemed to be getting heavier, and he sighed. What else should he expect this far north? It had long since obliterated the path he had been following, and that had been faint miles ago. Only his innate sense of direction kept him pressing steadily forwards, deeper into the valleys of the majestic Shiverpeak range.

Again, he sensed eyes on him, and he gave the solemn ranks of trees another cautious stare. There was something out there. And there had been something out there for over a mile. A bear? No, he'd hear that, and they weren't the type to subtly course like this. Wolf, or leopard, one of the two. He tightened his grasp on his staff and frowned. Like all of his people, he had been an accomplished hunter in his youth, and his heart had beat with the same rhythm as these very peaks. But that had been decades past, he was a scholar now.

"Who goes there?" He demanded of the trees, expecting no answer, but he got one anyway.

"I'm behind you." A voice, scratchy on the rise of manhood, answered him, and he spun on the speaker. And the youth behind him fit the voice, not quite a man, tall and lanky, a powdering of snowflakes camouflaging his coal black hair. The youth had the eyes he'd been expecting, however, pale as wolves' eyes, as leopards' eyes, as ravens' eyes. Watchful, contemplative eyes.

"Ah, right. I'm looking for Volun's steading..."

"And you've almost found it. I'm Sworn Volunson." There was the edge of a chill in the young man's response, and Svengr forced a more jovial expression onto his face. Those who still clung to the far ranges were stubborn, locked in their refusal to give up any more land than they had to. They could be volatile sorts, and Svengr wasn't here for a fight, especially not with this strapping example of sober young norn male.

"I am Svengr Dalgaard, arcanist of the Durmand Priory." Hopefully this one had at least heard of the Priory, or this would get long.

Both of the boy's thick brows jumped at the introduction, much of the threat dissipating from his stance. He looked suddenly younger, Svengr realized he had misjudged his age by a couple of years, towards older. Maybe fourteen, caught in the most awkward of ages. "The skaalds? Those who teach the books?"

Close enough. Svengr nodded in barely concealed relief. "Yes." He agreed, that was indeed his charge from the Priory... Tyria would be literate, even this deeply into the mountains. Only then did her people have the tools to use the information that the Priory so zealously gathered and protected...

"This way." The youth beckoned, and headed into the trees. Svengr was heartened to see that yes, he had almost found it. The steading was small, hunkered deep into a cut, shrouded in the mists that threw the deepest of snowfalls. Four dolyak stood in the yard, hills of wool this late in the season, protected from all but the most treacherous of weather. The nearest of them was the bull, and it make a fine show of threatening Svengr with a shake of its four horns, but its heart obviously wasn't in it. It had the complacent ease of a long tamed beast.

"The others are south. Hunting." The boy moved to open the steading door, stepping inside.

"And they left you?" Odd. This was the age at which a family should be forging a great hunter out of this one. He hinted at a massive heft, he was going to be a stellar example of a norn...

"Somebody's got to keep an eye on the dolyak." The boy noted, stamping the packed snow from his leggings. Svengr gave a nod, even if he did not agree, stepping into the lodge's shelter. Yes, someone. But not this one. That duty usually fell to an elder, or a mother, but a boy standing on the precipice of manhood? No. "Make yourself to home." The youth continued, either oblivious to, or uncaring of, Svengr's lack of agreement. "There's food."

There was, Svengr could smell it, a rich stew simmering. "The weather will worsen when the sun falls."

"Yes. Nothing I can do about it." The boy gave a half shrug, stripping off his parka and snow pants, hanging them them next to the fire. He had the beginnings of his adult tattoos already marked out on his flesh, an encouraging sight. Someone thought enough of him to start that...even if they left him guarding dolyak. "You bring books?" There was a baited hope in that small sentence, and Svengr blinked. His people were not known for a love of books, their stories were passed down in songs, in sagas, on the lips of skaalds. The Priory dealt in tomes, facts, histories, while Norn songs were fraught with boastful embroideries. But there was no hiding the desire in that question.

"I do. You read?"

"Yes. My mother taught us all...she hails from the Foothills south of Hoelbrak."

Svengr didn't bother to rein in his surprised snort. Half the time that area was snow free, as far from this place as it was possible to be, and still be within norn lands. To most up here, those lands were barely fit to be considered theirs, the home to soft people who didn't strive for the challenge that their very lands tempered them with. The youth's lips twisted in agreement. "Yes, yes. But she fell for my father, and that was the end of that."

And any pairing that threw offspring, especially offspring like this one, was blessed by the spirits. "You have siblings. How many?"

"There are seven of us. I'm the sixth born, four boys, three girls. The spirits of the wild blessed my parents well. Children of wolf, children of bear...and me."

Svengr glanced at the swirling foundation of the elaborate tattoo marked into the youth's pale back. Even at this stage, he could clearly see what it was going to be. "A child of Raven, no shame there." It might put him one step off of the rhythm of a family called to the more forthright of spirits, but Raven was an honored calling. "But yes, I have books, and you are welcome to read them..." He pulled his battered pack onto the long plank table and pulled out his most prized bundle. If all of the members of this steading already knew how to read, then he would not be staying long, especially if this was indeed one of the family's younger children. Their mother had already done what he was here for. That was good.

"Thank you." The boy took the bundle reverently, and settled to read immediately, obviously pushing the very fact of Svengr's proximity completely out of his mind. The arcanist smiled, recognizing a kindred soul.

Sworn was better than halfway through the stack of books when the family returned, and Svengr understood all too well the badly hidden flicker of irritation when the winds carried the babble of raucous norn voices. A vast male was the first through the door, the beginnings of silver growing in the black hair at his temples. He paused for only a split moment when he saw Svengr, then bellowed a greeting that shattered the calm of the lodge. "Stranger!" He crowed, as if one of those in his home was the finest occurrence that could be conceived of.

On his heels was a woman, the source of the youth's pale eyes and lean face. She had light brown hair, tied up in a matron's braid, and bright intelligence shone through her gaze. "Stranger." She lacked the edge of thrill...she was also the wellspring of her child's caution and distance. _This_ was the woman from the hills south of Hoelbrak? "Sworn?" She looked to her son, her blood, for answers, not from Svengr himself. A definite lack of trust...

The son in question glanced over the edge of the book he'd been ensconced in and gave her a half shrug in answer. "One of the skaalds from the southlands. Those who teach reading..."

Her eyes fell back on Svengr, taking him in. "Priory." She identified. "This far north?"

"Our charge is simple, all the children of Tyria should be literate..."

"And all of my children _are_ literate." Pride and indignation shone through those eyes, and Svengr opened his hands in calming supplication.

"Gudrun!" Her spouse snapped, and she trained that stare on him. Svengr was happy that it was no longer unleashed on him, and apparently her husband was well accustomed to it because he didn't flinch. "We have a _guest_."

"So we do... Tyra!"

"Yes, mother, I heard." A young woman emerged from behind, her hair less tightly constrained, and she wore the clothing of an unmarried adult. She was older than Sworn, Svengr would guess she was the child born just ahead of him. "I can only guess that Sworn has not managed the hospitality he should have..." Her stare fell on her brother, who blithely ignored it as only a younger sibling could manage.

"Sworn has been a gracious host." Svengr chuckled. Actually, he'd found the time in warm silence to be exactly what he needed to catch his breath and center his soul. As much as he loved his people, they could wear on him.

"There's a first." If Sworn's voice hovered around breaking, this voice had fallen off of a cliff a long time ago. It ground together like two boulders in a glacier, and Svengr sighed. No, Sworn wasn't a big one, that form that just barely fit through the door _was_. Child of bear indeed, and about as big as one. "Hallir Volunson! Well met, stranger... why do I not smell beer?"

"Because I haven't tapped a keg." Sworn muttered, the silence after that statement punctuated by the flick of vellum pages through his fingers.

"You what?" The mountain was dumbfounded, nothing feigned about his gaping mouth. "Sworn! Where are your manners?!"

"I've misplaced them somewhere, Hallir. Anyway, I've been told I'm not old enough to tap a keg..."

"That was three years ago!" The mountain moved into the light, and Svengr nodded to himself, unsurprised. As expected, it was a larger version of Sworn, rolling with muscle and bulk. The same black hair, the same eyes, but completely without the indifference and distance of the younger male. "You were _ten_!"

"No one's told me otherwise since then."

Volun sighed, shaking his head. "Forgive my son, stranger. He's the odd chick out, he has a good heart but..."

A fourth newcomer sidled in the door, and Svengr nodded a greeting at the youngest, a girl, the very mirror of her mother. "As I said, Sworn has been a gracious host." He repeated slowly. "I wanted for nothing."

"Sworn should get along well with one from the Priory." Gudrun said, following the older girl towards the hearth. She lifted the lid off of the pot that Sworn had set earlier that morning and nodded in approval. "Much the same. You do realize that the paths out of here are closed until this blows itself out?"

"I do." Ordinarily that would be no problem, but Svengr sensed that Sworn came by his distance honestly. This was no usual norn, she had deliberately chosen to leave civilization to come out here with this man.

"So he stays with us. It isn't as if we don't have the room, Gudrun. With the older ones gone..." Volun looked downcast for just a heartbeat, before he shrugged it off and grinned. "New tales are always welcomed, stranger?"

"Svengr Dalgaard, arcanist of the Durmand Priory." Svengr gave the expected grin...but knew, deep in his heart, that it was going to be a long few days. Maybe it was time to head south again, return to the Priory and let someone else take this task up for awhile. He hadn't really noticed, until given the gift of silent contemplation again, just how much he was missing it.

A keg was brought up, and Svengr accepted a foaming mug full, his glance still on the young male. He understood all too well the majority of the family, they were fine examples of norn... loud, proud, strong, joyous, loving, free with their hospitality and grace. They were his people, but they'd never be a part of his chosen life now. The mother might have been, but he understood that she had made her choices. But Sworn was different.

"You watch my son." Gudrun's voice from behind him, low beneath the din of her family's voices.

"And you watch me." He returned mildly. The beer was good. The food was good. The company should have been. "Is he a good hunter?" If he was abysmal at it, it would make this easier. But life was never easy.

"He is, as long as he's alone. In a group, no." She glanced at Svengr, then across at her husband. "If, and only if, he does not grow out of this, I will suggest he go to Hoelbrak and contact the Priory. It will break his father's heart."

Svengr dropped his chin into the cup of his throat and took a deep breath. He had no argument for that, he never had, he never would. For a people that marked their lives and accomplishments in the sagas sung about them, becoming a historian was akin to death without children. His own life would pass, unsung, unnoticed except in those books his brothers and sisters guarded and cultivated. How to explain the value of being a part of something like the Priory?

"But." She continued, biting her bottom lip, "I will not see one of my children's souls crushed trying to be something it is not. I've given Volun sons that we will sing of. That should be enough..." Her gaze fell on Hallir, and she nodded sharply. "But he loves them all so much."

"Of course he does. He's a good man." Of that, Svengr had little doubt. A lesser man would have not handled even what little of Sworn's behavior that he'd been privy to. "And perhaps you're right. Perhaps he'll grow out of this." Probably not, but Svengr had seen a great many odd things in his life, and read about a million more. Young men changed, the regard of their people became important, and the sway of young women could not be denied. For all he knew, Sworn Volunson could shed his odd ways like a dolyak shed wool in the spring. The Priory would miss out, but the norn people would gain. It was all equal in the end.


	2. Chapter 2

Prologue/Damaris

Albrikt Holmfrid watched his sister, and she ignored his stare. She was good at that, and he'd swear that she got better at it by the day. "Damaris." He grumbled again, and she ignored that as well. "It's time."

She had her back to him, the great paddle for swirling clothes going in a graceful, easy rhythm in her hands. It was a beautiful day, and she was correct that it was the perfect day to do wash, but he knew she was avoiding him. "Time." He repeated, and she glanced at him over her shoulder, one strand of hair loose from the tight braid she wore.

"Time for what?" She asked pleasantly, but he wasn't fooled. She knew. He knew she knew. She knew he knew that she knew. She was just playing a game, and it was one he had tired of a long time ago. But now, he had the weight to actually play it against her, instead of swallowing her way as the only way.

"Time for you to leave." He was impressed, the words came out with the steel he'd been praying for since he'd rehearsed this confrontation over and over in his mind. He had to stand fast. He had to stand firm. The very idea of what he was doing shook his very soul, but it was for the best.

She chuckled, shaking her head. "You'd put me out of my own home, _brother_?"

He closed his eyes, clenched his fists, took a deep breath. "If it comes to that." He whispered, but the day was deathly still and her hearing had always been amazing. He knew she heard him. "I'd rather you didn't make it that, my sister." No, anything but that. It went against everything that he believed in, everything he held sacred. She was his sister. His blood kin. His only surviving family. He'd hold onto her until the end of time if given his way, but it was time for him to grow up. And part of growing up was the sad realization that she did not belong here anymore. If she ever had, the more he understood, the less he knew. "But you need to go away from here." That was the single thing he was certain of.

"And go where?" She demanded, pummeling the clothing in her increasing agitation. "This is my home too, Albrikt. It's the only home I know! You can't do this!"

"You can't stay here!" He didn't mean to raise his voice, but it happened anyway, and once it was out, there was no claiming it back. "No, Damaris! You can't live in this stead anymore! You can't sleep in the same bed that you slept in with _him_! He's gone. They're gone. Let them go! They died, but you didn't! You can come back...after..."

She fixed blue, blue eyes on him, her expression livid and her complexion high. "After?" She echoed ominously.

_Bear, give me strength. _"You have a life again. You have a man again." He wasn't going to sit by and watch his sister just hang around to die. She lived. She breathed. She was still a gift to his people. He'd love to have her back, living here, but not like this. If that meant shoving her out of the steading, then he'd just have to do it.

"A _man_ again?" She spun on him, the dripping paddle held like a weapon in her hands. Albrikt locked his knees and his jaw...she was not moving him from this.

"Kormak has been dead for three years, Damaris. He's not coming back." None of them were. Not her husband. Not their parents. They'd gone. It was time to just accept that and stride forwards into their lives. "A year to mourn him was honorable. Two, beyond that. Three is just wallowing. I cannot ever repay you for these three years..." He closed his eyes at the thought. Had she not turned her ankle, she would have been with Kormak, with their parents, to answer the call... but she'd been lamed. She'd been the one to stay behind with Albrikt and the livestock. And when no one had returned, she'd been the one to hold things together until he was old enough. But he was old enough now, and much more suited to steading than she was. Her spirit looked outwards, it always had. She was just goat stubborn, and getting her to actually follow that leaning was not going to be easy. But he had to do it. This was the first trial of his adulthood.

"Go where?" She demanded morosely, turning her attention back to the hapless kettle.

He shrugged, even though he knew she didn't see it. There really was only one place to start at, even _he_ knew that. "Hoelbrak."

"I can't leave you."

He moved closer, sensing her rage deflating, and rested his hands on her shoulders. He could feel her trembling, fighting tears back. "You can." He breathed, "You _will_." She was too young to have given up. "Go out there. Make a life. Make a family. Make a saga...and _then_ come back to help with the dolyak."

Leave. Damaris sighed, gazing around the small lodge. Try as she might, she couldn't quite fan her feelings into outrage. Albrikt was right. Kormak was gone, and even if his shell still answered the will of Jormag, his soul...that of her husband, had long since died. She was a twenty year old widow, and her brother was now an adult.

_Still time to start over. Find another. _

She wrinkled her nose in distaste. She didn't want another... she was content alone.

_Say it enough times, and you might even begin to believe it yourself. _She sat on the edge of her bed and contemplated the wide plank floor. The first year had been a cold horror, stunning, crushing loss. The very thought that she could ever recover from it enough to _want_ another man was so alien an idea that it had never begun to form. The second year had almost been worse, the loss had begun to relax its grip on her heart, but it had been replaced by anger. She would never put herself in that situation again, never make herself that vulnerable. She had learned a valuable lesson, her calling was to raise Albrikt to adulthood, to make certain he learned everything he needed to be a fine norn. She would remain his widowed sister, auntie to his babies, sister to his wife. Never had she contemplated the idea that he would put her out first.

_Make a life. Make a family. Make a saga. And then come back._

When had he gotten so wise? When had he grown up? It seemed like only yesterday he'd been crying bitter tears into her skirts, terrified and mourning. Now he was a man, equal in her height, and proving to be grown up in his soul. But to leave him would leave him here alone.

_No child of wolf ever stays alone. You see this through your eyes and heart, not his. _

True enough, while Albrikt had been a wolf pup from the first moments that Damaris could start to pin his leanings down, a person who loved a small group of people, his pack, his family, with an all encompassing truth... she was born to a different spirit. Solitude ran in her veins, the child of Snow Leopard, a stark independence that she couldn't seem to turn from completely. While she wanted, needed, someone in her life... he needed to grasp that facet of her soul. And most didn't, so many were like Albrikt, or her father, born of bear. Great mountains with vast beating hearts.

_It is time. You have done the honorable thing, the right thing. Now it's time for you to go walk your own path. Towards your name, and yes, towards the man that the spirits mean for you._

Kormak. It seemed that lately, she couldn't quite remember just what he looked like. She remembered the obvious things, he'd been blond. Big. He'd had a big smile and an even bigger laugh. But every time she closed her eyes to bring him to mind, to embrace her memories again, he was turned away from her. Lately, in her dreams, he was walking away from her, and no matter how she chased him, she couldn't catch up to him.

Was it possible to start again? While she wanted only the best for Albrikt, a wife, fine children, she had to admit that the very idea filled her with bile. Much as she liked to say differently, she really didn't think she was big enough to be the person she wanted to be... auntie, and sister to his wife. It would be a bitter life to watch him build that. He was right, it was time for her to leave. She wasn't certain she could fulfill all of what he wanted, but she needed to at least try.

She laid across the bed on her stomach, reaching into the dark space between it and the wall and grasped the leather straps of the pack kept behind there since that day. It was the pack that Kormak had made her during their courtship, the one she'd used back when she'd been a hunter to be proud of, a fine example of young norn womanhood. When the world had been opened up in front of her...

"So you're really going?"

Damn Albrikt. _Now_ he had bashful doubt in his voice... She glared at him, dragging the pack across the rumpled blankets and furs. "Yes. To Hoelbrak." It had been a place she'd dreamed of seeing, Kormak had sworn that they'd get there...someday.

"Good." He tossed a bag down beside her, the clink of coins audible. "No." He gave her a steely stare when she opened her mouth to protest. "Most of it was Kormak's. By rights, yours as his widow. And some from your share of here. You still own half, it's still your home...I won't buy you out of it unless you want me to, but my true hope is that you will return."

"With a man." She tried to lace it with venom, and failed. She couldn't snarl at Albrikt, anybody else was a fair target, but not him.

"Absolutely. You lived, Damaris. And I'm going to hold you to that, you are going to go out there and live the life you still have."


	3. Chapter 3

Sworn held his breath, crawling into the silence of the day. His prey was oblivious to his very presence, moving from one log to another, lipping at the gray patches of lichen exposed by a scouring wind. Breathe. In. Out. The bow in his hands creaked, but it was the same noise as the frost laden branches creaking above his head, and the deer didn't so much as twitch an ear in response. _Release._

He was in motion, a blur, a split moment after he let go, a pistol already half pulled from its holster, but it was unnecessary. The shot was dead on, the deer's mad dash straight forward was just instinct. He followed the blood trail, finding the small doe a few lengths into the copse of trees she'd been fleeing towards. Nothing to be terribly proud of, no tales around a hearth for this kill, but the season had been hard and the hunting sparse at best. Let Hallir beat himself up looking for big meat, worth a song, a story, and a trophy, Sworn was just happy to bring home food. This, and the bag of forage he'd collected on the way would make a meal, the first fresh that they'd had in four days. He gutted it, keeping a cautious eye for predators, then slung the carcass over his shoulders and started moving quickly back for home. He couldn't imagine anything worse than finally bringing down meat, only to lose it.

Tyra met him on the upslope before the ground fell away towards the lodge, a brace of scrawny rabbits dangling from her grasp and relief squarely painted on her features. "By the Spirits, Sworn!" She breathed, "You did it."

"I take it that the others didn't?" His father, Hallir, and Hallir's brothers in law had gone after big meat, in spite of the fact that Sworn had seen nothing that even remotely qualified as that in weeks.

"You'd be correct." Sworn sighed, nodded. And now, they had Hallir's two massive brothers in law to feed tonight. He was happy to feed his own, but try as he might...and he most certainly had...he couldn't bring himself to see Auda as anything more than a woman he had only the faintest of bonds to, and her brothers were even farther removed from him. Hallir, on the other hand, had fallen into their family like he'd been born to it, and swam easily between the two.

"I'm tired." He finally admitted, and Tyra gazed at him warily. "There's nothing here for me." He suddenly could not bring himself to go down that slope, into that lodge, pressed with people. "Take this..." He slung the doe over her shoulders. "I can't." He expected an argument, but she gave him none, turning away and moving off. He found a sheltered spot that afforded him the best view of the valley and sat, trying to find the same peace within him as he had experienced just hours ago, but it was gone.

He sensed the presence behind him well before he heard the footfalls, and sighed. A light step, made it one of his sisters, or more likely, his mother, and he braced himself for the lecture. It was indeed his mother, but she was silent as she sat beside him.

"Sworn." She finally jumped into the silence, and he stared at her. "I wanted to talk to you."

Of course she did. They all did. That was all they ever seemed to want, especially when words wanted to fail him. It seemed like the more space he needed, the harder they wanted to hold him close. And now that he was an adult, it had worsened. Now it wasn't just his own family watching him, judging him, it was everybody he came into contact with. Everybody seemed to have an agenda for him, the 'turn Sworn into a perfect norn' plan. Except that no one had asked him about it.

"What?" He asked, although he already knew the answer. How could he be out here, when they had guests? Guests that weren't supposed to be guests...they were family, but they weren't. His family regarded him as the 'odd chick' out, and was comfortable with that. The new inlaws, no. He was a project to be planned out...

"You're not happy here."

He stared at the snow. His attempts to obscure that fact had become less and less plausible, and recently, he'd stopped trying. "I..."

She placed a hand on his shoulder. "No. The truth, Sworn."

"No, I'm not. Hallir's marriage just made it worse, but it was there before. I love you. I love Father. Hallir. Tyra...everybody...but..."

"You're not meant to stay here."

He stared at her. She said those words with an ease he found more than a little disconcerting, as if she'd been planning to hear them. Waiting. "You remember the man from the Priory who came through a couple of years ago? Svengr?"

"I...do." Where was she going with this? What plans were being hatched behind her inscrutable eyes?

"I've been in communication with him since then, in case this day came. There's a place for you in the Durmand Priory, if you pass the entrance interviews, and you want it. Books. The knowledge of Tyria, compiled..."

_There for me. _"Father."

She brushed her apron with the flat of her hand, wrinkling her nose. "Already knows. He hopes that you will stay, that you will pursue Belga, and build close by, but he's not a fool nor a blind man, Sworn. Raven calls you away from here."

Stay. Pursue Belga, who was indeed a fine young woman and worthy of pursuit, build close by. It had a comforting feel about it, even as his mind reeled away from it. No. He would not give himself halfheartedly to a wife, to a life, to children. He was a better man than that. When...if...there was a wife, she would be central to his life. Her children would be the pinnacle of his achievements. Never a duty, always an honor. "Where?" He had only vaguely heard of the Priory, and had no idea where they were actually located at.

"The person you are to speak to is in Hoelbrak. The Priory itself is farther than that... Lornar's Pass."

Hoelbrak, and farther. He liked the sound of that. The world was waiting for him, but he was done waiting for it.

It felt like a great weight had lifted from him, and although it meant facing his father, brother, sisters, it also felt like he could breathe again. He wasn't stuck. There was a way out of this, a life for him beyond these empty hills.

"Thank you." He stated, and she merely shrugged.

"Your destiny is elsewhere, Sworn. Where would I get myself fighting against that? Go. Fulfill it. Live. That is the gift that I gave you."

"I just want you to know that I don't hate you."

She gazed at him for a long, puzzled moment, and then laughed. "Hate? No, Sworn, we don't think that. They try so hard because they want you to be happy and it's the only way they know to get there. The best. A fine steading. A lovely wife. Little ones."

"They?"

"I know that there's more than one way to get there, Sworn. More than one path through a good life. Go out there and break your own snow. And, certainly, find a lovely wife. She isn't here, and you know that."

_Nothing is here_. Even as the thought formed, he rejected it. Many, many great things were here. This was home. His family. And it was time to leave it...for now.

…...

Damaris could feel the ambivalence in Albrikt as he watched her carefully empty the pack that had been made ready for a trip she had never taken. It had spent these past years dropped behind the couple's bed that no longer sheltered a couple, dusty and nearly forgotten about. Tools, extra clothes, another pair of boots, herbs, a first aid packet, all of the things she might have needed...

But she hadn't. The call had come, Icebrood moving close by, and the plan had been to leave at dawn to intercept them. In a rush to get as many things done as possible, in uncertain light, she'd stepped in a hole. Everything had crashed to a halt in that moment, the look on Kormak's face when he'd come to her side to help her up. Why could she remember the look, but not his face? She could remember her father's face as he'd leaned over her foot, taking in the damage, but then both she and definitely Albrikt, had been marked by their sire. Looking at her brother was like seeing a lesser version of her father, and as time passed, she had trouble adding the lesser to him. Albrikt was not going to be a lesser man, at only seventeen, he had passed her height up, and gained weight everyday. She needed to understand that he was a man...the same age as she was when she'd accepted Kormak's proposal...and the same age she had been on that terrible day when her father, her mother, and her husband had gone off hunting Icebrood...and had obviously found them. The day she'd become a widow. A steadholder. And a surrogate mother sister hybrid to a devastated teenaged boy.

"It's been so long." She breathed, running fingertips down the brushed felt of her hunting coat. There had been no real hunting trips after that day. No real journeys at all. The luxury of having someone else, another adult, to watch the steading had been snatched away in a moment, and Damaris's world had shrank to encompass this steading. This young man. Those dolyak. All of those dreams she'd had with Kormak, all of those plans, crushed.

"It has, yes." Albrikt agreed, pulling her weapons from the pack and studying them thoughtfully. Damaris had been born gifted, the elements bent to her will. Even as long as it had been since she'd even tried, she could feel the wellspring of that calling deeply in her soul. It ran as darkly as Leopard's touch did within her, undeniable. "Dama. Please, it's time to..."

She stared into his face, so like hers. He had the same deep blue eyes, the same dark brows set at a slightly belligerent angle, the same pensive twist to his lips as she did. He gotten so big, he had to lean to wrap his arms around her waist, burying his face in the wool between her shoulder blades. He'd done that so many times during that first winter, trying desperately to be something she could lean on instead of being just one more burden for her to shoulder. "Live." She heard him finish, muffled but still clear enough. "I want you to live. To go out there and be alive. I want to be an uncle almost as much as I want to be a father and a husband." He straightened, resting his hands on her shoulders. She could feel him thinking, pondering, and whatever he was contemplating felt like trouble. He took the heavy braid falling down her back in his hands, and she froze when he untied the tail of it.

"Albrikt..." Her warning fell like Wolf's growl, like the scream of dragons faraway in the north, but her sibling did not flinch. She remained stiffly silent as he unwound the tight braid, finger combing her thick, black hair loose. He then split it into two hanks, one falling over each of her shoulders, and loosely braided each, tying them off with the two ribbons that had held her matron's braid tight. She glared into the air before her, as he recreated the hairstyle she had worn before she'd become Kormak's wife.

He kissed the back of her head with a fleeting peck, "Done." He chuckled. "Sorry, Dama... you can seethe all you want, but you don't scare me. But do me a favor, please?"

"What?" She growled, finally fastening him with the glare.

"If you go out there, when you go out there, you can't go out there as a married woman. I'm not asking you to forget Kormak, anything but that. He was a good man. I miss him everyday. But you have to let him _go_."

She sighed, shaking her head. It was hard to remember that Albrikt had been there the whole time. He'd been there, a tag along little brother, when Kormak had begun to meld from her childhood friend to more. He'd been as much the brother that Albrikt had never had as he'd been her lover and husband. The edge of silver circling her wrist caught her attention, and she frowned, pulling her sleeve up. Kormak had been so nervous, blushing, stuttering, the only thing that had truly made sense was the marriage bracelet he'd offered up when his words had failed him. It was a modest example, later he'd promised her better... but like everything else, there had never been a later. Her vision blurred as she grasped the warmed metal and slid it from the place it had rested since that day, and shifted it over to the other wrist.

"I know it's not easy." He murmured, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "By Wolf, I know. Just promise to bring home one just as good as he was."

"Is there such a thing?" She cursed the sniffly rasp in her voice, and Albrikt's grip tightened.

"For you, I think there is. Truly. You just have to go find him."


	4. Chapter 4

Leaving home was the hardest thing that Sworn had ever done... listening to Tyra and Inge cry made him feel smaller and more selfish than he ever had in his entire life. Hardly easier to deal with was his mother's distance, his father's brave stare, and Hallir's shaky grin. He tried to comfort himself with the fact that he was not the first of his siblings to take this step, three had preceded him, and life here still carried on. They were missed, but their absence was not crippling. Life carried on.

It was a blessing when he was finally out of sight of the steading, moving gracefully over the ice and snow, headed south...towards the great city of Hoelbrak. He felt wrapped in peaceful solitude, calm and comforted. He moved quickly, with an ease at odds with his size. Although he had never gained quite the bulk that his father or Hallir had, Sworn was easily as tall as both of them. Like any fine example of norn male, he was heavily built, rolling with muscles, a brute force of masculinity. But he slipped from shadow to shadow, keeping to the trees without conscious decision, silent, leaving only the faintest of trails behind him.

He reached the lodge at twilight, making certain he approached as a friend, in the open. Only a day's travel away from home, he knew this place. This would not be the first time he rested over here. But it was the first time that he meant to keep heading resolutely south, and to not treat this as his turn around point.

"Hail!" He announced his arrival, his voice long since settled into its adult range. The doors parted, and he grinned a greeting at the young woman who peered out.

"Sworn!" She laughed, pulling the doors open to let him enter. "Just you tonight?"

He nodded. Lately he'd been traveling with Tyra, honing her skills. Somewhere along the way, she'd been rather overlooked, the middle child, never quite as impressive as her siblings, quiet and unobtrusive. She had been the most difficult to leave behind. "Tyra is not with me today." He stated, and the lodge keeper's daughter pouted in response.

It was oddly quiet in the lodge, and he realized he was the only traveler here, which explained her reaction to him. It was often lonely deep in the hills like this, and so many travelers tended to be hunters or the odd merchant, mostly well into their adulthood. His occasional forays here with Tyra had brought her the rare young female companionship missing from her life. A sad idea, hopefully Tyra would continue to roam without him...

"Ah, well. It's good to see you, Sworn. Good hunting?"

"Not hunting today. Traveling."

"Traveling?" She gazed at him warily as he took his usual seat at the table. It was obvious she placed a mug in front of him without thought, and gave barely more attention to the large bowl of stew and hunk of bread she followed it up with. "To where?"

"Hoelbrak."

Her expression fell, as so many's did out here when they heard those words. All too many decided to go south, to let go of the lands that these families fought so hard to hold onto, drawn by the tales of a great city filled with norn.

"You're the last one I would have expected to do that, Sworn Volunson. You belong out here, in the Wilds, not in Hoelbrak, of all places. Why go there?"

"The Durmand Priory has a representative there. I want to join." There. He'd actually come out and said it, made it concrete and true.

She wiped her hands on her apron and stared at him as if he'd grown an extra head or two. "You want to join the Priory?" She repeated slowly. "Sworn, you're a norn!"

"Norn join the Priory." He muttered rebelliously, and she laughed outright.

"_Old_ norn join the Priory. What about Belga?"

"What about her?" Belga had never been his idea. She had been Hallir's. Been his father's. Even vaguely his mother's. She was a fine young woman, but Sworn was certain she was not for him. She had never been for him. When he looked at her, he felt exactly the same way as he felt about this one...a certain kinship, but nothing more. The same way he imagined any young male looked at any young female. But there had been no spark to build a fire from. "I've never courted Belga." And that was the spirits' honest truth. Just because the entire valley wanted to link him to her didn't change that fact. He'd never courted anyone, and now he was grateful for that. One less thing to hold him here.

"I guess you haven't." She wrinkled her nose in thought. "Usual bed is yours, then." She glanced in its direction and he nodded. It was the perfect distance from the hearth, and deeply in the shadows. He finished his meal while she studiously ignored him and without another word, sank into the furs covering the bed. He had bigger things on his mind than to worry about someone who had their nose out of joint because he was following his own life.

Hoelbrak. Damaris fought to keep moving, to refrain from stopping and gawking like a child, much as she'd love to do just that. The great city rose out of a fog bank, immense as a mountain, a wonder of her own people's crafting. So much attention was given to the genius Asura, their floating cities and incomprehensible devices. Or the Charr, with their vast metalworks. She'd never seen any of those, in fact, she'd never even seen an Asura in her life. Charr were fairly commonplace, traveling across the Shiverpeaks with impunity, but the Asura were just a story to her. But this was something she understood, steadings and lodges, but on a scale she had never considered. And absolutely packed with norn. She'd never seen this many of her own people, ever. They packed shoulder to massive shoulder, a wave of boisterous noise. She bridled back, uncertain. She knew none of these people, they were all strangers.

"It's just fine, young one, go up there and sign your name."

Damaris glanced over at the older woman who was speaking to her, not bothering to bleed the flash of confusion from her expression. "Eh?"

"You're here from the outlyings to take part in the Great Hunt. And the sign up is there." The woman flicked a hand heavy with rings towards the deepest glut of wooly norn gathered together. "Best of luck to you. May the spirits smile on you."

"Ah..." The 'no' died on Damaris's lips. Why not? It would make an interesting story to tell later. Every norn wanted to try it sometime, and why not now? There was no chance she'd win, she'd always been a poor hunter, much better with herding than hunting, but what better a way to get started on a new life than this? "Thank you."

She waited in line for what seemed like an eternity, doubting more and more each second. But at the moment when doubt overcame what little resolve she had, the line parted and the huge man behind her in line pushed her to the edge of the table. "Here for the hunt. Name?" An older norn, seated behind a great book, demanded.

"Damaris. Holmfrid."

The seated man glanced at her, nodded in some approximation of approval, and turned the book towards here. "Sign your name, Damaris Holmfrid, and welcome to the Great Hunt."

_And you are a damnable fool, Damaris. _But it was only her voice chiding, her own doubts, no real deep ones from the source. The worst she would do with this would be to embarrass herself. And that embarrassment would fade soon enough. By the smell, most of the crowd was intoxicated enough to easily forget and forgive one 'outlier's' ideas that she could actually participate in the Great Hunt. She penned her name, and turned the book back. She'd come out here to live again, and it looked like it was starting today. Hopefully they explained how this worked, because she had no idea. All she'd heard were vague stories extolling the virtues of the Hunt, and the bravery of its winners. Nothing in them on how one actually participated. She clung to the edges of the mass of people who had signed before her, deciding that they were all headed to the same place.

Hoelbrak. Sworn was stunned by its size, its scope, and the sheer number of people on its pathways. It felt like a moot, only the largest, loudest, and most boisterous of moots he'd ever dreamed of.

"You looking for the Hunt?"

Hunt? Noooo... He did a quick mental count and grimaced. Of course he was a damn unlucky fool to arrive in Hoelbrak during the Great Hunt. "No, I'm looking for the Durmand Priory." Hopefully they were open about their presence and easily found. If not, this could be a painful afternoon...

His eyes fell on a young woman uncertainly attached to the very edges of the mass of gathering hunters. She was dressed much as he was accustomed to, a heavy woolen felt coat with an embroidered border, worn open because of the rather balmy day. She reeked of a prosperity he grasped, far from the odd styles of so many of the young women gathering.

"Pretty wilds girl. But then..." The man speaking to him looked Sworn up and down, "You're a good looking wilds boy."

Sworn glared back in answer. The woman was lovely, and it twisted his heart to hear her dismissed so blithely. And then, to be insulted a moment after her... "Better than being a soft city boy." He retorted coldly and the man bridled back at the tone.

"No insult intended. You're right, she's very pretty. And the Priory is that way." He sidled away, headed for a larger group of intoxicated norn far away from Sworn. Sworn was happy to see him go, left alone to admire the scenery, from the tips of her worn boots to the top of her dark head. She didn't feel like a hunter, she didn't move like one either. Her clothing marked her as a steadholder, a herder, but there was nothing wrong with that. His own family was such, and he certainly liked what he saw.

"Best of luck." His whispered under his breath, turning his attention to the direction that the man had pointed him in. It was time to get this started, and to commit to his new life.


	5. Chapter 5

Damaris stared at the elder, hoping he would give her some insight into what she was supposed to be doing. Even as sober as she was, she was lost and confused. This was a poor idea. Dumb as a newborn dolyak, if any tales were coming from this, they were definitely of the 'I can't believe I did that!' variety, not necessarily the sort she was hoping to make.

"All right!" He bellowed over the din, and silence reigned. He motioned to the side, and a woman stepped up beside him, shadowed by a massive dire wolf. His yell had brought silence, her appearance brought a deeper flow in the crowd that Damaris did not understand. The woman was beautiful, yes. The animal was ominous, yes. But there was something more. Somehow, this woman's very presence had the ability to bring this sort of awed respect... "Welcome to the Great Hunt!" The man continued, "However, each of you must prove your worth to compete. So, go out there..." He motioned behind him, farther south than Damaris had ever been in her life, "And prove your worth before your people, before me, and..." His glance fell on the woman standing beside him, "Eir Stegalkin."

There was just the beginning of a cheer, but the woman's stare pushed silence again. Safe in a crowd of equally focused eyes, Damaris studied the greatest living hero of her people. Eir was about what she had imagined, beautiful, imposing, regal, with the flame red hair that legend claimed. "Bring back the biggest and best that you find to secure your place in the Hunt!"

That did bring a ragged, raucous cheer, and the crowd moved south, Damaris trailing. The path opened up south, and Damaris paused in near disbelief. Although it was still early in the year, the ground was clear of snow, thick grasses and the occasional spot of colored flowers rolled out under a canopy of dense trees. The dolyak at the hunting camp just below the ridge had already been sheared, standing ready to transport kills. She grimaced, obviously they weren't going to be carrying any of hers, the true hunters had already passed her by and had vanished into the wilds. She shrugged, moving forward down the path, called ahead anyways.

She found the source of the call a couple of hours later, a shrine to Snow Leopard. Hunt forgotten, she smiled, moving towards it. While it had become obvious that she had been called as a child, the wilds were desolate, and her area had no shrines, no shaman, no havroun, to affirm and guide that calling. But here, in front of her, was exactly that.

The ground was warm under her palms when she settled onto her knees, gazing entranced up at the graven leopard visage mounted into the mountain side. Now, this had the makings of a tale to tell...the time she'd traveled to the Foothills and communed with her Spirit...

"Welcome, child of Leopard. I see you've found your way."

"I have, yes." She stood slowly, brushing off the leaves from her skirts.

"Odd day to come. Most are hunting, or waiting for the hunters to return." The man cultivated a well of calm around him that Damaris envied. She tried, but it seemed like she constantly walked a razor's edge of ill temper. Even when everything was correct, right, with her parents and Kormak whole, she could be counted on to disagree, to grumble, to rage. Badly, it had only abated when loss and mourning pushed it back, leaving her placid and numbed.

"I started with them. But came this way instead."

And those inscrutable eyes peeled back layers to stare inside of her. She was certain it wasn't a comfortable feeling at all. He blinked once, and it was gone, replaced with a measuring curiosity. She fingered her skirts, wasn't how she was dressed a giveaway? She wore no armor, as Eir Stegalkin had, or the majority of those who had preceded her from the hunting camp.

"I'm not that much of a hunter. I'm a herder, much better at it."

"But you thought you'd do the Hunt at least once in your life, while you were young."

It wasn't a question, and Damaris wasn't certain it called for an answer or an affirmation. "Yes." She finally settled on the bare minimum of a response, and he smiled, his eyes shadowed under the snow leopard mask of fur draped over his head.

"Nothing wrong with herding, young one. It's a nurturing gift."

Ordinarily, she would have laughed. Although she had all of the earmarks to be 'nurturing', any of those skills that would mark her as a mother and a wife were artistry in her hands, but her temperament was ill suited to it. She was calm as death around dolyak, soft as a gentle breeze, but when faced with her own people, that fled into the night. They were guaranteed to say something that sat wrong, even Kormak. Too loud. Too drunk. Too stupid. Too forward.

"You doubt."

"I have a temper." And that was putting it mildly.

"You are norn." He responded solidly, as if that was the most obvious answer in the world.

"I have a bad temper...for a norn."

He threw his head back and laughed, a thunderous sound. "You are young yet. You are one of those of those given gifts that seem to be drawbacks and you have only started the path that will temper them and you. Rage is a fuel, young cub, and it's one you have in full amount."

"Hmmmm." Oddly, it seemed as if he wasn't quite there, like she was talking to herself. The second it caught, his eyes narrowed, and he nodded firmly.

"You're late, Damaris Holmfrid." All of the comfort and the levity were gone from his voice. "You've run out of time."

"What?" In spite of the fact that the day was edging towards too warm, the proclamation brought a chill.

"It's time."

"Time for what?"

The answering stare he gave her was both frightening and truly rewarding, as if she had attracted the attention of a hero she'd never meant to be seen by.

"You to turn around..."

Although she wary to turn her back on this...whatever this was, she did a half turn to where she could both look behind her, and keep an eye on the apparition. Standing not more than twenty yards away, downhill, was a massive, red eyed boar, its full attention locked on her. And there was nowhere to run to...

It was as if that part of her that had laid dormant for years took over, and she snapped into a combat stance, the first motion, never forgotten, flowing to her hands. The boar charged, the air around it superheated, the smell of burning bristles and skin overpowering the clean breeze.

_"Never take a fire elementalist hunting. The animal is charred before you get it home..." _A fragment, Kormak's voice, and Damaris pushed it away. No time for that. If she didn't get her act together, she'd be joining him in the Mists...

The next motion flowed gracefully out of the first, and the world shuddered in response. _Die. _It had to die before it reached her. She wasn't a ranger, a warrior, or anything clad in armor.

It dropped just inches from her, took one last shuddering breath, and there was silence for just one blessed moment. It was chased away by voices, loud voices, male voices, and she set her jaw. She wasn't going to cry. It was dead. She was uninjured.

"Ho!" The first to appear was a ranger, his wolf companion coursing ahead of him. It stopped well short of her and the corpse, giving the grin that only a wolf could. "Oh, hey there! Heard the fight start...and then nothing." His eyes, blue gray like an icelocked lake, dropped to the boar. "And that would be why. Nice one!"

"Uhhhhh..."

"For the Hunt! I know you signed, I was there behind you." His gaze dropped to the motionless mound at her feet, and he gave her a luminously proud grin. "Definitely going to get you into the Great Hunt! Congratulations!"

For one moment, she considered offering to him, but she recognized the honesty in his gaze. All she would do would be to insult him, and he was truly pleased with her luck. He would never consider claiming a kill that was not his. He felt the same that she remembered Kormak being, forthright and straight. The comparison sickened her for a moment, and his expression faltered slightly before he grinned again. "Don't be nervous. It's a fine day! The spirits smile on us. We'll get a dolyak up here and get this to the camp so that it can be seen!" He looked backwards, the way he'd come from, in time to see his companions break from the tree line. They'd been unlucky, Damaris saw no hint that any of the four of them had brought anything down.

"What goes, Ostin?" One of them asked, climbing the hill towards them. His eyes widened when he identified the mound of bristles accurately, and he nodded. "I see. We escort a candidate for the Great Hunt home to Hoelbrak! Get a dolyak, or two!" He stared at the boar for a long moment, then laughed. "And send word to Hoelbrak, it's going to take us a while to get back with this one. They need to hold the judging..."

It did indeed take a while to get back with it, it was full dark before the heavily burdened dolyak made its way to Hoelbrak, the sooty corpse lashed to its back. The same elder man who had watched the book earlier stood waiting, Eir Stegalkin at his side. "So this is the boar we are told of?" He asked, without expecting an answer. "The one we've held the judging for?"

"It was killed during the time, it just took us this long to get it up here." The ranger, Ostin, proclaimed, still sporting that wide and honest smile. "Whitebear, it's a valid kill. A single kill."

"And whose kill is it?" Eir asked calmly, and Damaris caught her breath. As expected, Ostin pointed squarely at her without even a moment of thought.

"Hers. She took it out by the Snow Leopard shrine. Alone."

Eir's jade eyes fell on Damaris, measuring, and it was all Damaris could manage to keep from squirming. She knew exactly what she looked like, and more importantly, what she _didn't_ look like. The crowd was filled with women who looked a thousand times more the great norn hunter than she did, and probably were just that, like Eir herself. There was the flicker of something in those eyes, and Eir moved up as they cut the corpse loose and let it slide to the ground. "Elementalist." She finally stated, running fingertips down the beast's back. "I see...Damaris Holmfrid." The syllables were savored, driven like someone who was marking a name to be remembered, to hear its flow and chime. "A hearth name, that one."

Damaris remained silent, although she'd argue the point with anyone else, immediately. Unlike most norn, she didn't wear her father's name as a patronym, but claimed a family group and an area. However, Eir did not wear her father's name either, so arguing the point made little sense. "Damaris Torgrimsdottir." She clarified, and Eir only nodded. "But yes, we use the steading name for our own." It wasn't a lack of pride in her father, but a welling of pride in much more than just one person, and these people could just deal with that. She knew she was coming off as hopelessly provincial, faced with the Norn's greatest hero and the leader of her people, but she'd be damned if she'd turn her back on how she'd been raised. Torgrim Holmfrid's firstborn was just what she was...a herder from the wilds of the Snowden range, dressed in felt and claiming a hearth name.

"It is the largest kill of the day." Whitebear agreed, "So. Welcome to the Great Hunt, Damaris Holmfrid, daughter of Torgrim."

Sworn was not surprised to discover that the Priory office was closed for the festivities, with a placard prominently displayed promising that they would resume their duties after the Great Hunt was over. He spent the day exploring, and watching hunters bring in their trophies. But oddly, even after twilight fell, the candidates had not been announced, and he sidled into the crowd to listen.

"Big, big kill still out on the foothills. They're having trouble bringing it in." An older child whispered to him, and he grinned at her conspiratorially. "They _say_..." She continued, realizing he was actually paying attention to her, "That a _girl_ killed it, all by her lonesome."

"Why is that so hard to believe? Eir is a girl. Now, she doesn't kill by her lonesome, she has Garm to help, but still."

"Silly. _Eir_ is a hunter. This one isn't, I guess."

Not a hunter. He stared at the knot of returned and anxious hunters, realizing that there was indeed at least one missing.

The knot appeared over an hour later, coming out of the deep dark, a dolyak patiently burdened with a mass of meat almost its own size, and a group of norn. Sworn's eyes were immediately drawn to the steadholder, and smiled slightly. Somehow, yes, that was _her_ kill. The way the men with her pushed her forward to meet the eyes, to send her on to talk to the great ones, proved it. But how? Nothing about her hinted at this... He stalked up to off side of the dolyak, hidden by its mass and the shadows beyond it, and smelled...burnt, cooked pork, skin and pungent hairs. She was a caster, an elementalist. She would never be in the ominous armors favored by most norn warriors.

"So. Welcome to the Great Hunt, Damaris Holmfrid, daughter of Torgrim."

Damaris Holmfrid, daughter of Torgrim. He nodded to himself slowly, melting back into the excited crowd. A fine name, for a fine woman.


	6. Chapter 6

Damaris wasn't quite certain how this qualified as 'hunting', which implied some sort of search to her. There was no searching, her target was right there, penned in a box canyon, and was quite irate for the fact of it. That had to be the largest bull minotaur she'd ever had the displeasure of resting eyes on. They had to be jesting, right? Kill that?

As if it had heard her, it charged the gate, eyes simmering, rolling forwards on its front knuckles. There was a hollow boom as it hit, and it rolled backwards, shaking its head against the blow. "Big one." The man next to her noted, and she glared at him in response. The glare deepened when she saw where his eyes were resting, firmly on her right wrist. Kormak's marriage bracelet shone brightly against her skin, catching the sunlight. His brow was furrowed, he was thinking, and her mind made up his thoughts even if he didn't say them aloud...

_Too damned soon for this. I can't... _She forced a false smile when he glanced back up at her face. He was a nice looking man, in both regards. His gaze was open, honest. His features fit together well, and he stood, massive and comforting, next to her. His eyes were an invitation, waiting, hoping, and she pointedly looked away from him. Why was this so hard? It hadn't been difficult with Kormak...

_Whom you were raised with. _

True. He'd had an unfair advantage, and now she understood that she'd never have that history with any other man. These were strangers. All strangers. If she had ever been told that she, Damaris Holmfrid, was shy, she would have laughed herself silly over the very idea. Now, however, it wasn't so funny any more. She felt watched. Judged. Measured. And it seemed like every time she turned, there was a man there, with this same expression on his face.

_I'm sorry, Albrikt. _

She slid the bracelet off, and back onto the wrist it had ridden for years. It felt right immediately, and it would feel immediately right when she got her hair bound back the way she'd become accustomed to. If there was a brave soul out there, they'd ask. Or they'd pay enough attention to realize just what was missing from the picture. But Damaris was tired already of the stares, the murmured questions kept just out of her earshot. She moved out of view, easily untying the ribbons and fighting the majority of her hair back into a single, tight braid. Let them think what they would, let them wonder what they would...she had a minotaur to kill.

She stepped back out, right into another young man. "Sorry." She muttered, flushing when he instinctively reached out to steady her. He gave her a fleeting smile, and his eyes were simply the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen on a norn male...ever.

"Nothing to be sorry about." He murmured, placing her squarely back on her own feet. "Good luck." His eyes didn't fall to her wrist. Nor did they climb around to her hair. They were firmly locked on her face. "Damaris Holmfrid."

And that was simply unfair. He knew her name. Of course, it had been bandied about Hoelbrak like leaves before a breeze since yesterday, but. "You are?" Besides gorgeous, she'd ascertained that already.

"Sworn." He chuckled, "Volunson." He glanced around, his expression wary, almost hooded, and she followed his gaze. Young men, curious, wishful, they'd been dogging her steps all morning. Now, it was as if they weren't even quite there... "You've got quite a following." He noted wryly, and she shrugged in reply. This one was not the type to be part of a _following_, she sensed that.

_Say something. Anything even remotely intelligent. _

"Do you have a handsel for me?" Well, no, that was not even remotely intelligent. It was something, but hardly what she would have wished for. No one here had offered her a token, even those males that watched and pressed, but she boldly asked this one for a gift? Well, it would possibly send those others away, giving her enough room to breathe and think in their absence.

"You ask me for a token?" He echoed slowly, his stare quizzical for a moment. "Oh, ah, right, of course. I'd be...honored." He reached under his tunic and pulled a string of beads loose, sliding it over his ears in a swift gesture and over her head in the same motion. "Best of luck, and be...careful." And he was gone. Vanished, truly, leaving her alone and flustered, gawked at. Only a thief could have been there, and then been gone, so completely. She grasped the beads, heated to his body temperature, and just stood in disbelief. She was an idiot. She was cursed. The moment she discarded Albrikt's hopes, his advice, tied her hair up and proclaimed her falsely married status, and she had to run into _that_.

"Damaris." Ah, yes, now that she liked. There was a distance. The first young man's expression wasn't open and honest anymore. It had closed, pulled back. It was comforting. "They're ready for you. Good luck. And yes," His eyes fell on where the thief...Sworn...had flamboyantly vanished at, "Be _careful_."

Be careful. The gate opened before her and she stepped into the canyon, feeling the weight of a great focused attention, planted squarely on her.

Sworn sat, flustered, blushing now that she was far, far away. What the hell had just happened? The young man who had been with her had breathed wealth, prosperity, respect, but she had barely looked at that one. But she had stared at Sworn, through eyes the color of a winter's afternoon. Dark blue, hinting of snows and blizzard. And then, just like that, she'd asked him for a trinket. A token. An offering of luck...and he'd...

Given her the strand of beads that his brother had given him, with the obvious expectation that they'd end up around Belga's neck. Why he hadn't given them to Tyra, like he'd considered before he left, he wasn't certain. But he hadn't. Why he'd been wearing them today, he wasn't certain, but he had been...

_Raven's touch upon you, Sworn. You have a magpie's love of shining things, and a true distaste to let them go once you have them. _

But it had been easy to let it go when she'd asked... He frowned when she stepped into the canyon beneath him, and he measured the terrain cautiously. It would be dishonorable, but if it came to it, he could get her out of this. He could throw in.

The minotaur's attention was caught the moment the gate moved, and it was charging before she had cleared it. Everything slowed, as Sworn was so used to, and he felt the clarity he felt when he was hunting... the smallest detail leapt out at him. He hadn't noticed that she limped slightly, but it was a weakness he cataloged in that split second. _"Fire, hear my call!" _She bellowed as loudly as the oncoming bull, and the very ground beneath it erupted into fire. It screamed, maddened, and was set to burn the next second. Blinded, it stumbled, and she dodged out of its way. Sworn gripped his knees, entranced. He'd never seen an elementalist at work, and the brutality of it was transfixing. It was one thing to realize she burned things, another thing all together to actually watch. The bull's eyes were burned from its sockets, and it snorted out an aerosol of blood as it tried in vain to scent her. All it would smell was its own blood, and its own burning flesh... And her every move with filled with a devastating grace, every turn, every gesture, the tilt of her head...

"She's very lovely, Sworn."

"She is, yes." He agreed, shifting to allow the aging arcanist a space beside him. Svengr sat, his pale gray eyes locked on the scene before him, but his attention was on Sworn. "You've come to Hoelbrak. I received your mother's letter."

"Yes." It was pretty much over but the bellowing. As long as she kept out of the bull's thrashing range, she was fine. The bull was already dead, but was slow to come to that realization. "I'm here to join."

Svengr chuckled, "And she doesn't make you rethink that?" He asked, gesturing at the elementalist dancing out of the minotaur's reach. "You like what you see..."

_I do. For the first time, ever, I really do. _He understood Svengr's caution, but even with what he felt, there were no doubts. "I am called." He muttered through numbed lips. "I can't explain. She's wonderful, but..."

_Wrong time. Wrong place. Right woman. _

He snapped back, feeling the older man's stare. He tried to come up with a lie, something that sounded good, but failed miserably. "What did Raven say?" Svengr finally asked, and Sworn shrugged.

"She's right, but I'm not ready."

"Ah. Perhaps later then?"

Later? That was an idea that brought him near to pain. "You think she will stay unattached?"

"Isn't she married?"

Sworn's stomach dropped. Was he truly so blind? Clueless? Enamored that he had missed the obvious? "I..." He paused to recall what she had looked like earlier. "Am not honestly certain." He breathed. "Yesterday, she wasn't...like that." Her hair had been loose, two braids hanging. His magpie eye had noted the bracelet, and dismissed it, but she'd been wearing it on the opposite wrist. Promised? If so, why had she so boldly asked him for his token? Why wasn't _he_ here, if _he_ even existed...that man whose clumsily made bracelet she wore? "He isn't here, if she is." And would be a crime, a sin... who missed their lifemate winning the Great Hunt, which was what she had just done. She walked to the downed carcass, squatting beside it, warily extending her hand to rest fingertips on its hump.

"Perhaps you're right." Svengr chuckled. "But you're here. So to the Priory with you, young man. You can chase lovely elementalists...later."


	7. Chapter 7

The dress was finer than any that Damaris had ever dreamed of, much less ever seen, dark blue linen with a steel gray wool overdress. On one hand, she wanted to reject the gifts, but on the other hand, she understood them all too well. Like it or not, she was the center of attention today. Like it or not, she was a champion today, unfaded. She would not go to her own moot looking like a backwards country herder, a bumpkin, even if that was what she truly was. Her people could be generous to a fault, and the gifts pouring in from people she didn't know, had never heard of, and indeed, had never seen before boggled her mind. She had her pick of dresses. Ornate jewelry. Fine leatherwork...shoes, belts. It was hard to believe that it was all hers, and not even a loan...there was no returning items if she didn't know who had brought them. There was only one new thing she that she understood, and she used the thief's token as the finery that spanned the two large bronze brooches that adorned the shoulder straps of her overdress.

"Very nice." Eir had come into the loft behind her, and Damaris jumped. The woman was silent as death... "I did some checking on the young man in question, Sworn Volunson?"

_Married. Taken. Something... _There was a wait, a distance...something was not quite right, yet. "Let me guess, he's married?" Just because he didn't show it meant little... many males did not. And he'd never acted wrongly, _she_ had...

"No." Ah, but there was a hesitation in Eir's voice that said there was something else. "He came here to join the Durmand Priory. He's going to be sent on to the Priory stronghold in Lornar's Pass, for novitiate training."

The Priory? Damaris paused at the very idea. She'd heard of them, vaguely, before. She'd been taught to read by the local skaald, sitting beside Kormak and Albrikt, along with a handful of other children from closeby steadings, so she'd had little to do with any Priory member. She knew they were skaalds, entrusted with the history of Tyria, more than the epic songs and sagas that the Norn cultivated, embroidered, spread and embellished upon. "The Priory is a valuable choice, I'd hate to try to talk him out of it..." Eir continued with a shrug. "But there is no way he'll leave before the moot is over, so do we ask him? You'd be better off with an escort to keep the others at bay, and if he's the one you've got your eyes on, and you're not looking for permanent, it could work well."

And Damaris was damned foolish, or merely desperate, because that idea was one of the finest she'd heard for a long time. "That sounds like a good idea...if he's not going with someone else, of course."

The small Priory encampment in Hoelbrak had become oddly quiet, and Sworn glanced up in confusion. It had been noisy, nearly raucous, and suddenly...not. He met quizzical and measuring golden eyes peering at him, perfectly at his eye level, and he nodded at the great dire wolf staring him down. It grinned and panted, glancing upwards at the woman behind it. "Sworn Volunson?" She asked calmly, and he recognized her from earlier, she'd been at the Hunts... Eir Stegalkin. He scrambled to his feet, awkward and uncertain...how was he supposed to respond?

"Yes." He confirmed, suddenly aware that he was on his own here.

"Walk with me, if you're not busy."

Busy? No, he'd been killing time, waiting for the festivities to end so that someone would consent to travel south with him and Svengr. There was safety in numbers, after all. He nodded, stepping into stride with her, and waited quietly for her to speak. "Damaris Holmfrid." She began, and he shrugged in answer.

"I know _who_ she is." He admitted warily, "But I don't know anything about her, truly. The first time I saw her was yesterday." How could she be the sort of trouble that sent _Eir _after him? _Was_ she married? Promised to someone with enough clout to get this to run him off? But she'd been the one to ask him for the gift, he'd just run into her.

"Same for all of us." Eir mused, and her voice carried no threat. "Damaris is the new Champion of the Great Hunt, her moot is tonight."

Of course he knew all of that. Was he about to be warned away? No issue there, he hadn't really been planning on attending anyway.

"She has attracted a lot of attention from young men, that she's a little uncomfortable with, given her current status."

Current status? There was a weight to her words, a slight line between her brows, and her eyes were sadly level. That meant something more than what it sounded like. She wasn't discussing the Hunt at all with that. "Current status?" He finally trusted himself enough to ask.

"Damaris Holmfrid is widowed. She lost her husband to the Icebrood."

Sworn raised a brow in thought. That explained so much, in spite of the questions it grew. The contradiction in her clothing, her hair, the wedding band. It was a sadly commonplace occurrence in these dark days, too many had lost their lives to the Dragons. At least she was young enough to start over again... "A tragedy." He murmured when it became obvious Eir wanted some sort of response from him. "Do you know if he's been gone long enough?" The very question felt callous, but it needed asking.

"Long enough, Volunson, long enough. Which brings us to you, and why I'm here to speak to you. She has a liking for you, probably the first since she lost him. She asks you to accompany her tonight at the moot. We know that you're intended for the Priory, this is no challenge to those plans at all."

"I'd be honored." Suddenly, this all made sense. And Sworn liked things that he understood. There was a challenge in not understanding something, of course, something to be solved, but a contentedness once it was solved. A feeling that things fell correctly into place. And it'd be a story...not even Hallir could claim the honor of escorting a Great Hunt champion to her moot. If she understood that he was going away, then he saw no harm in it at all. It was better than sitting here, waiting.

"We'll get you cleaned up, and take you to her." Eir promised, and he nodded. That did sound like a fine idea, he was travel stained and worn. A bath was just what he needed.

He was expecting a bath, and that was exactly what he got. He wasn't expecting a new set of clothing, but he got that as well, much finer than he'd ever had before. "Aren't these the Priory's colors?" He asked when Eir stepped back in to check on him. It seemed as if everyone he'd seen with them wore the same gray and blue.

"Yes." She affirmed, shrugging. "A coincidence, I believe, but a happy one for you. Consider them a gift."

"A coincidence?" He echoed dubiously, and she smiled.

"Damaris was given a few gowns in rather subdued colors to pick from this afternoon. She chose gray and blue, and I'm certain that was not due to any nod to the Priory's colors. These were chosen mainly to match hers. A coincidence." She measured him, and he guessed by her sudden sharp nod that he had passed. "This way."

He followed her up a set of wide stairs, and into an upper corner of the main hall. Damaris stood there, her focus locked on the sections of bubbly glass in the arched rise of window that lit the corner. There was no way she could see out of that, and he could sense the fine edge of nervousness in her stance. In spite of it, she was almost painfully lovely. Hallir had asked him more than once what he thought was beautiful in a woman, and he'd never had an answer, until that moment. And he couldn't say exactly what it was that made her so. He'd seen prettier women. He'd certainly seen happier women.

"Damaris?" His voice was remarkably steady. He could sense Eir step back, felt her move away, back downstairs.

"Sorry to have imposed."

"Imposed? No." She finally turned away from the window, and he smiled. She wore the beads that Hallir had carved, meant for a courtship gift. Hallir had meant them for Belga, but they seemed perfect enough where they were. "No imposition."

"Good. I'm glad." She smiled, and her whole face illuminated, and if there had been any doubts in his heart, they were gone in that second. This was simply the most lovely woman he'd ever seen. "We should go down."

"Ah, right." He managed words, and he'd never been so proud of that rather mundane accomplishment in his life. He walked beside her, close enough to reach out and touch her if he was that brave. He wasn't, it was enough to be this close. There was a murmur, like an avalanche calving, when they became visible at the top of the steps, It was an odd sensation, Sworn had always been the odd one, the young one, overshadowed both literally and figuratively by his older brothers, until _that_ moment. He was the man stared at, wondered about, even envied? That was the feeling he got when she rested a hand on his elbow, making it all too obvious that she was here with him. It was heady, blood rushing excitement.

He placed his fingers over hers, giving her a smile in response. So many of the people pressing close were just blurs, voices and expressions, until he realized the next one was Svengr. And that one's gaze was measuring, contemplating, deep...and completely lacking the celebration of the crowd around him. "Damaris, Svengr Dalgaard. The man bringing me to the Priory..."

She smiled, giving Svengr an expression that Sworn had come to realize was a reflexive smile without true meaning. And it was pretty obvious by the older man's frown that he saw right through it. "When you have a free moment, Sworn, I'd like to talk to you." He said, "An honor to meet you, Damaris." And that last phrase was as false as her smile had been. He turned to vanish into the crowd, and Damaris turned blue eyes to Sworn.

"You going to see what he wants?" She asked slowly, and Sworn shook his head.

"No. I don't have a free moment. I promised you that I would be your escort for this moot. I won't have a _free_ moment until it's over and you're not here anymore." He'd made Svengr no promises. And he had made the Priory no firm commitments yet. "I apologize for his rudeness."

"He's afraid I will keep you from the Priory." She identified easily, shaking her head. "And he can't come up with an argument _against_ that."

"I am going to the Priory."

"I know that. He doesn't." She wrinkled her nose, "He believes that I will try to lead you away from that. I won't."

And that was almost a sad statement. For the first time, Sworn was torn, uncertain. The Priory had seemed such a viable choice, so recently, and now... not. He had gone from no options, to two...and both seemed right. "Damaris..."

"There are Priory members in Hoelbrak, Sworn. They are norn, still. They have relationships; wives, husbands, little ones. Go forward with your plans, it isn't as if they destroy all other paths you could walk later."

"Thank you." She was right, it wasn't necessarily an either or, it could be both. "It's so overwhelming, I've never been away from home before."

She smiled, not the fake, reflexive smile she'd been wearing, but an honest, eye dancing, cheek dimpling, grin. His knees went to water, and all he could do was blink in response. "Neither have I. And you're right, it is a little much to take in. But it would be wrong to make hasty decisions because we're both snowblinded by Hoelbrak."

"We're norn." He breathed, "We specialize in hasty decisions. And intoxicated ones..." Those were celebrated, made into legends.

"Do _you _really?"

"No." He'd always been the thinker, the ponderer, the one who argued his way out of things, not into them. And he sensed she was the same. "We are terrible examples of our people." He noted, and she merely nodded in agreement.

"We've got a moot to survive." She said, and he fell into step beside her, moving towards the head table.

He'd thought, before, that he had been to moots, gatherings of his family and all of those within a couple of days travel. Those were pale versions when compared to Hoelbrak celebrating a successful end to a Great Hunt. His horn was never empty, his plate always full. It was a joy, but he was relieved when she took his sleeve and gave it a slight pull away. Yes, it was time to go and sleep off the food and beer...if he could find a quiet corner to do it in.

They were shown to a quiet, screened corner, far away from the hubbub, and Sworn stared at the bed in it, uncertainly. His people lived communally, of course, nothing new there, but there was a world of difference between being hand in glove with his parents, his siblings, and his siblings' spouses...and a young woman he had his eyes on. It was obvious by her expression that her mind was working the same way as his was, and she shook her head with a slight chuckle.

"You behave, I'll behave." She said, crawling out of her heavy wool overdress and taking the side of the bed next to the wall. He remained stubbornly dubious until she patted the expanse of furs next to her in an invitation. He was certain he'd never sleep like this, but was gone the first moment he closed his eyes.

Damaris woke, warm and soothed. It had been years since the last time she'd slept like this, comforted by the presence of a man beside her. Sworn was still dead to the world asleep, curled around her, his face buried in the ruin of her hairdo, hand resting on the rise of her hip. Too damned long, indeed.

She turned over carefully, studying him. Without the focus of his eyes, his face walked the edge of being plain. His brows were heavy, his nose a little long and broad for his face. He was rather thin...Kormak would have outweighed him, and if her memory was correct, towered over him. Even Albrikt was heavier, taller, broader.

He woke the moment she grasped his hand, before she could even attempt to move it gently... his eyes shot open and he stared at her like she was some sort of appartition he couldn't quite place.

"Damaris?"

"Good morning." At least she thought it was morning. The shadows seemed to say so, but she was unfamiliar with the Great Lodge...for all she knew, those were twilight shadows.

"Ummm... good morning." He had a wary, stunned, yet slightly hopeful stare that made her want to giggle like a little girl. Men. "I...uh...don't remember..."

"Nothing to remember. You're dressed. I'm dressed. Nothing happened." And as expected, that slightly hopeful edge turned to slightly unhappy, yet deeply relieved.

"Good." He smiled, and she tilted her head questioningly. He meant that, completely. "That's something I would want to remember happening."

"Nice answer." She noted, and he grinned, apparently unwilling to release his hold on her waist, and she really wasn't invested enough to make a fuss over it, either.

"It's the truth." He murmured, finally moving his hand to smooth her hair. "Can I ask you for something?"

"Eh?" Surely he wasn't going to ask? And if he did, did she have an answer?

"You have something from me... Do you have anything to give me in return?"

Oh. That was hardly the request she'd been half expecting and half dreading. And did she? She had little...and most of what she had was either totally inappropriate, it wouldn't do to give him something she had from Kormak, or incredibly precious. But... she escaped from his grasp and grabbed her worn pack. There actually was something that would work in it. It had been packed, she was certain of it. "Here." She breathed a sigh of relief when she felt the edge of cold bronze. "I think it will fit."

He took the piece from her, curiously, a circular, flattened band of engraved and enamelled bronze, completely plain on one side, and set with windows of dyed leather; red, blue and green. It fit his wrist perfectly when he slid it on, and he stared at it. She could feel him puzzling, wondering, thinking.

"It's the edging frame from one of my father's shield bosses. It's the closest thing I have." She wasn't in the habit of carrying around gifts for young men. "What you gave me isn't really important, is it?"

"The necklace? No. My brother made it for me to give away to a young woman he wanted me to court. I kept telling him I didn't like her that much, but he lived in hope. I'd much rather give it to you than her, and this is a fine piece." He smoothed his sleeve over it thoughtfully. "You can read?"

"I can, yes."

"Then I'll write. I promise. But I should go before the Priory leaves without me." He gave her an awkward kiss, almost missing his target, sent one last uncertain glance back towards her, and gathered up his pack. She said nothing to hold him, only watched as he left. She half expected her fortitude to fail, but it didn't...she'd survived much worse in her short life, and she merely gathered up her possessions and repacked them.

"Are you alright?"

"Been better. Been much, much worse." Damaris turned to Eir with a shrug. "He's gone?"

"Yes, he is."

"The Priory is not prison, when he's done with his novice training, he'll be free to see you again..."

"I told him that already."

"Good." The woman came out of the shadow she'd been standing in. "Good that you realized that yourself. But Knut and I promised to get you out of Hoelbrak, at least until your fame as champion dies down a little."


	8. Chapter 8

So many books. Sworn had never, in his wildest, most greedy dreams, considered that there were truly this many existing in all of Tyria, much less held in one place. He loved everything about the Priory... from the vast, secure architecture, to a cadre of teachers able and more than willing to answer every single question he could come up with. And if they didn't have the answer, they'd find it. No question was an imposition. No curiosity too fanciful.

He had his own room, tiny, but still oddly private. His own desk. His own pens and inks. The most important thing here was nurturing his mind, his intellect, honing his brilliance. He was blessed to be here, finally.

He smiled to himself, picking up the sheet of folded vellum resting next to him. Damaris had a firm, blunt hand, not as pretty as he'd been expecting, just imminently readable and functional.

"_I cannot tell you how wonderful it was to leave Hoelbrak. I feel like such a terrible person for running away so quickly, but the whole place is just too overwhelming for me. I'm currently in the foothills, doing some checking into the dredge for Whitebear, even been working with a member of the Priory. It's good to be so close to home, I really feel like I'm making a difference here for these people who helped me when I needed it the most_."

He nodded slowly, both in the content, and in another grasp. Like him, Damaris was much more comfortable writing her mind than speaking it. The words flowed across her pages like a conversation, much more open than actually speaking with her had been. _Working with a member of the Priory. _That could have promise, she was a bright person, more introspective than the majority of their people. She could have a place here, in the Priory, close to him. It was a pleasant idea, one to dream about when the shadows grew long and the first tinges of honest loneliness rose in him. He missed having people he truly cared for around him, it had taken him quite awhile to realize that. He didn't miss people, he missed...bonds. And he'd like to forge a new one with a certain very shining example of what he wanted in a woman. But right now, he had a class to attend, in his newest field of interest. He dropped the vellum on his desktop, exulting in the fact that no inquisitive sibling would read it without his blessings, and gathered up his notebook, pens and an ink bottle, moving down the tight circular hallway beneath the main archives. This way had never been designed for norn, his hair brushed the stone ceilings, but the construction of this place had come well before the Priory had met norn for the first time.

He hurried, taking the long away around to avoid Svengr, but still wanting to be well on time for the lecture. He wanted the best of the 'norn' seats...certainly he was too tall to take any of the front seats, he'd eclipse the speaker for everybody rows behind him, but he wanted the closest of the larger benches arrayed around the side of the hall.

Just on time, he slid into the large lecture hall, taking his favorite seat and arranging himself comfortably. He was a few pages deep in his notebook when he realized he was being watched, no...stared at, and he glanced up. "Archivist Dalgaard." he greeted, hoping that trepidation wasn't noticeable in his voice. He should like this man more. He should, on some level, be grateful to him. Neither worked. This one had so much in common with Sworn's family, doing things that he thought were in Sworn's best interests with little concern again about what Sworn wanted.

"Trahearne's lecture?" Somehow the man managed to put a mountain's worth of doubt in just two words. "Did you not get my message?"

Sworn had, and had chosen to ignore it. He could think of a thousand other things he'd rather do than attend the lecture that this man thought he was supposed to be at. "I...did." To say otherwise would only get the messenger in trouble, and would solve nothing. "I cannot be in two places at once."

"And this is where you choose to be?" More heavy doubt, and Sworn bridled underneath its weight, trying to choose just the right words...

"I was not aware you had any say in where Novice Volunson chooses to spend his time, Dalgaard."

Sworn choked down a grin, ducking his head. It sheltered his expression from the scowling norn, but brought it right onto the level of his asura interrupter. She gave him a conspiratorial wink, before glaring up at Svengr. "The novices are free to decide their path of study, Dalgaard, but you seem to trying to circumvent that policy with Volunson. I suggest you find an apprentice who shares your loves and wants to work with you, one more suited to your goals. Just because you brought Sworn here does not mean that you own him."

"Of course, Magister Kajji." Svengr gave the sketchiest bow that Sworn had ever seen and stalked away, scattering a group of asura as he did so.

"Grumpy grumpy." She piped, hopping to sit in the closest non norn chair to Sworn. She stared at him out of huge, violet eyes, her floppy ears raised in an inquiry. "Been spending more and more of your time in my stacks." She noted, and Sworn nodded. Yes, her interests were closely paralleling what was becoming his interests. "Which are not his."

Sworn snorted. Svengr's fascination was with acquisitions, digging and relieving others of works that they weren't willing to share with the Priory. His secondary interest was with the Icebrood, and the Elder Dragon, Jormag. Sworn understood that focus, that was the force that had driven the Norn from their homes, made them refugees, adrift and defeated. And more closely, it was the force that touched those around him... Damaris, for example, but as immediate as it was, it didn't hold his fascination as the undead did. More than that, it didn't hold his fascination as the transmission of undeath did.

"I guess he thought a norn thief belonging to the Priory, that he had recruited himself, was just too perfect."

She stared at him for a minute, her strawberry blonde hair trailing pink ribbons to her shoulders, but her expression all business. "Agreed, but to give into that destroys the joy that you..." She poked his shoulder with a tiny claw. "Were gifted with. The joy of learning. And, correct me if I am wrong, but this..." She motioned around at the filling lecture hall, "Is what you want to learn."

"It is, yes."

"Then would you consider being my apprentice?"

Sworn blinked, he'd been so busy trying to avoid being Svengr's apprentice that he hadn't really given much thought as to whose apprentice he did want to become. "I'd be honored." He said truthfully. This was better than he'd dared hope... to be partnered with a magister focusing on the subject he was growing to love. He was just now getting his feet under him with the Priory, he didn't want to be dragged away to a dig site. "I'd be honored." He stated truthfully. _She_ was the magister doing the research that called to his soul.

She flashed him a joyous, if cringeworthy, grin jeweled with a predator's teeth and dropped into her seat with a smug wiggle. "Fantastic!" She trilled, obviously immensely pleased. "I've always wanted my very own norn! I hear they're immensely useful."

Sworn knew when he was being teased, and merely gave her a weighty stare in answer. He was norn, male norn, and he towered over pretty much everything in the Priory except for larger examples of his own kind and gender. On the other hand, her race was dwarfed by every other, including yes, the dwarves. When he was standing, she came up to the middle of his thigh, just the correct height to rest his hand on. But for every inch that an asura lacked, they made up for in sheer arrogance.

"We are." He confirmed, and she gave him a conspiratorial wink in response. He grinned back, suddenly aware of a great weight lifted from him. He hadn't been aware of just how much dread he'd been avoiding until it was gone. He was free to pursue the studies he dreamed of.

The room silenced when a smallish form, thin as a branch, entered. Sworn narrowed his eyes and settled back... watching the sylvari male step onto the dais and stand behind the lectern. Oddly, for a member of a new race just barely older than Sworn himself, new to life, new to death, and new to Tyria, the entity before him was the acknowledged authority on the undead of a kingdom destroyed in antiquity. But the sylvari had appeared on this world with a deep racial memory and a thirst to learn, to know, to grasp and understand their new surroundings. Even though Sworn had finally had the chance to meet many here at the Priory, he was still amazed at them. A people born of a tree, and resembling plants. The world was truly a wondrous place.

"Trahearne." Kajji confirmed what Sworn already knew. This was why he'd been so determined to be here, at this lecture, and to hell with the consequences.

Damned dredge. Damaris hid in the shadow of a rock outcropping, stewing. It was beginning to snow, but that meant little to her...it would have to be much worse before she even made much note of it.

She'd always despised the dredge. Everything about them annoyed her, and their increasing threat didn't really surprise her. Unfortunately, they were currently her problem...both as a norn, since her people had the misfortune of the largest concentration of dredge in their adopted lands, and now as a _champion_ of the norn. That remained an ephemeral concept, one her mind really hadn't worked its way around yet. All she truly grasped was that the dredge were being even more of a problem than usual...and that meant they were killing norn. And that was a crime, a sin, that she was more than happy to respond to with violence. But this more than just killing dredge. Something had changed. Escalated.

Before, the violence had been random, opportunistic, nearly accidental. Now the dredge were attacking trained squads of veteran combatants, and emerging triumphant. That was a problem she'd never seen coming, and by the consternation on the faces of those she'd been assigned to help, they'd never seen it coming either. Why were the dredge suddenly attacking, and attacking _these_ targets? Poking both the Dragon's Vigil and the Durmand Priory made no sense to her. The first was filled with trained, gifted combatants more than willing to use steel to solve their problems, and the second had access to some pretty frightening information. But that changed nothing, the dredge were escalating, and these two organizations were their new targets. And chasing this had gotten her miles away from the press of Hoelbrak, a good thing indeed. She might have a very large male norn crusader of the Vigil calling her a coward, outright, but she could handle that so much better than the alternative. And... like it or not, there was a worry, a concern stirring. The dredge were targeting Durmand Priory. Not only was that the main depository for Tyria's knowledge base, her center of learning, not only was it headquartered in the southern rises of the Shiverpeaks, which put it in Norn lands, it was now Sworn's home. When had she become biased? Or was she? Certainly, the Priory was an irreplaceable treasure, and its loss to Tyria could never be overcome. Coldly, callously, the Dragon's Vigil had none of that weight, that gravitas. It was valuable, but not _in_valuable. No, her decision was correct, in spite of the personal weight it carried, and she'd be damned if she let a man shame her into changing it. She was in the right place.

She sighed, and glanced over at the mountain of a man standing in the snow beside her. He was from the Priory, escorting her on her way to the latest target of the dredge, a remote and little known Priory outpost deep in the range. It was odd to see it, a norn, a man, one of her people, garbed in the Priory's gear. Like Sworn... only not. This was hardly a handsome man, he looked and felt more comforting than enticing, and she sighed again. Lovesick idiot that she was...

"What?" Prott demanded, his voice deeper than Sworn's.

"Thinking." Usually that word was enough to silence any norn. They didn't want thinking, they wanted boasting and wild tales. But this was not any norn, and he raised thick brows at the word.

"Of?" He queried and she cursed internally.

"Do you think the dredge really are targeting the Priory?"

"I do. Why, I can't say...but we are certain that they are. Why?" His eyes were level, no hint of bravado or judgment in them, and she shrugged, twisting the edge of her over tunic in her fingers.

"I have a...friend...at the Priory." She finally admitted, and he leaned back in surprise. "A male friend." As if she needed to specify, by his intrigued stare he'd already made that leap of intuition.

"There's no truer cause than to protect a friend, Damaris." He chuckled, resting a hand on her shoulder. "Is that part of what's been bothering you since you turned down Crusader Thurkill and the Vigil's push for revenge? That you've done this because of a man you have feelings for?"

"Somewhat."

He frowned, pensively running thumb and forefinger down his thick growth of dark beard. "There will be time to kill dredge later to avenge the Vigil's losses. The Priory is a vastly strategic target, and to have it harmed..."

"Would be devastating."

He gripped her shoulder in support. "So, it's merely an additional point in our favor that you are here to protect someone of our Order." He grimaced, obviously debating with himself, and she stared at him.

"What?" She demanded in the same tone that he had started the conversation with.

"Thinking." He joked back, then opened his hands. "Just wondering if you'd let me know who the lucky man was, is all. Curiosity."

_No_. But then, why not? It wasn't as if she was ashamed. It wasn't as if it was some sort of deep, dark secret... "Sworn Volunson." She wasn't even certain how many members there were in the Priory, would he even recognize the name? But obviously he did, because his stare became more weighty and his nod was slow.

"I know him." He finally admitted. "A very fine example there. You could do much, much worse."

Why that affirmation made her feel better, she didn't know, but it did. However, there was another problem, another issue, that made this personal. "Well, we're almost there." She breathed, and Prott shook his head.

"No." He disagreed. "Although you have been leading us..." He stopped, considering, and then silenced. "You know the area."

"I've been leading you to the Holmfrid steading." She teased him with a slight smile, and his expression stilled in realization.

"You're going home." He stared at the horizon, in the direction they'd been traveling in. "It was where I was going to suggest stopping at, but that makes it all the better. How long have you been gone?"

"Not long, just six months." Just six months, the travel to Hoelbrak. The Great Hunt, then random tasks here and there well suited to the Champion of the Great Hunt. Nothing truly important until her introduction to the Orders after their request for aid had come to Eir and Whitebear's attentions. That had brought her out here, following the trail of obnoxious dredge. But if there was trouble here, then Albrikt needed to know. "There." It was still just an arc of white rising from more white, almost obscured in the fall of snow and the white horizon, but she'd know home anywhere. After all, she'd been born there.

She heard the warning snort from the bull dolyak, and felt Albrikt's wary attention on them from the dolyaks' lean to. She slowly and deliberately reached up to drop her hood, waving a greeting. He crowed in joy, hoping over the fence, plowing through the snow, and sweeping her up in his arms. "Dama!" He laughed, hugging her tightly. "And...companion?" There was a weight of curiosity, measuring, and Prott shook his head slightly at the unspoken question. "No. No. Inside and then we talk!"

Inside had not changed either. Everything was exactly as she'd left it, and she settled onto the bench before the fire. "Albrikt, this is Scholar Prott, from the Durmand Priory. Prott, this is my brother, Albrikt. We're out here to take a look at a dredge problem?"

"The dredge?" Albrikt curled a lip in undisguised disgust. "Yes, there are a lot of them around lately, they've gotten worse than the Icebrood. You look well, my sister." His gaze took in the clothing she wore, the beads falling across her chest. "Very well. So this is just a traveling companion?" There was thinly veiled disappointment in his voice, and Prott laughed outright.

"Just with her to respond to an attack that the dredge mounted against a Priory outpost west of here." He glanced at Damaris, measuring, then obviously decided to jump anyway. "I take it he does not know about young Volunson?"

"No." She grinned, and he nodded.

"Ah. Well then. Apparently your sister has her eye on another member of the Priory who is much better suited to that attention than I happen to be. However, that young man is also still deep in his training and is not currently free to pursue her, so she is out here with me. Sad, but true."

Albrikt froze, as if he was waiting for some disagreement from her, an argument, but when she remained silent and accepting, his eyes widened. "Truly, Dama? Already? You...?"

"It's early yet, but it's a good possibility. I... find him very..." Something. Something good, and she let the sentence trail off into oblivion, with a slight shrug. "I'm more than willing to see if it will work after he is released from his training."

"Well!" Albrikt blinked, as he struggled for words, then only laughed and hugged her again. "Wondrous news, my sister!" He pushed back, then glanced at the hearth. "Umm..."

"We brought food." Prott murmured, "No worries. In fact, why don't the two of you talk while I cook? Finish with the dolyak?"

"Right, thanks." Albrikt smiled, and Damaris fought down a groan. She'd just gotten sat down, and now she was supposed to go outside again? But that was all the privacy that they were going to get, and she followed him back out to the dolyak pen. He pondered her for a long moment, obviously torn by something, and she gave him a narrowed eye stare, leaning against the comforting presence of one of the cows.

"Already?" He asked, and he didn't sound nearly as happy about the idea as he had just moments ago, and her stare deepened. "Don't get me wrong, Dama. I want you to find someone. Truly I do. But...this fast? It has me worried."

"About?" She reined in rage, how dare he send her away to find someone, but then get ambivalent when she _did_? Did he even know what he wanted?

"That you went straight to Hoelbrak, and found another Kormak Rahlsson. I loved him, but... you could have done better. He was never..." He twisted fingers in the dolyak's deep fleece, grimacing in obvious pain. But again, he kept right on wading in. "Deep enough for you. He wasn't stupid, but..."

But he had been simple. Unchallenging. Easy. "Sworn is a novice at the Durmand Priory, Albrikt. He has a fleet mind..." His letters from the Priory made that all too obvious. "He is much like me. He thinks. He ponders. He weighs. He questions. His love is knowledge...a child of Raven." As far from the bear born Kormak as it was possible to be.

Hope gleamed in her brother's eyes, as if it sounded too good to be true to him. "Big? Blond?" But still, that edge of trepidation. And it was amusing, the more he asked, the more she realized just how much Sworn was the opposite of her late husband.

"Thinnish, actually. Raven dark, with Raven's bright eyes. He is nothing like Kormak, Albrikt. Nothing he does is a sad reminder. Nothing about him makes me think of Kormak. It's like it's all new again. When I saw him for the first time, it was like that was it...as if the Spirits told me so." How to explain what she herself didn't understand? Norn were known for being spontaneous, impulsive, impetuous, and most of her people would not pause for a second when faced with 'I wanted him the first moment I saw him.' Albrikt was another matter altogether. He knew her too well. She was not commonly like this. Even as a child...

"The first time you saw him?" Albrikt echoed slowly, stunned and not attempting to hide it. "Are you telling me what I think you're telling me?"

"I knew it in that moment. The first time he looked down at me, that Sworn Volunson was the one." There. It was out. She'd said it, to the only living member of her family. It seemed like every step just kept walking her firmly forward away from what she had been...away from the life that she'd had here.

"So. His name is Sworn Volunson. He's a son of Raven, and a novice at the Priory... And either that's not a lot to know, or I don't understand it completely. I know that means he's a thinker, and that's a good thing. He has a family, a past, a craft?"

Thankfully, the distance and clarity of his letters had given her these answers. "He comes from a large family, he's the sixth of seven. All living, as are his parents." And that was both a joy, and an undeniable safety net. To have as small a family as they did currently was dangerous. They lacked support. Marrying into a large family would bring not only her into that community, but Albrikt by extension. It would do what her marriage to the orphaned Kormak had failed to do. "They herd in the northern Wayfarer Foothills." That was the only downfall, that was a long, long, long way away, but her people also tended to be semi nomadic. It wouldn't be unheard of to have her brother leave a struggling steading to move closer to her. "But we're still nowhere near there yet..." She couldn't jump quite that far, yet. But she was willing to admit, out loud to Albrikt, that it was a distinct possibility. "He's young, this is the first time he's left home. Not a lot of a past. A decent hunter, herder."

"All sound good, if this is what you want. A scholarly man seems like he could be a match with you. A young man, of course, you are young yourself. A large family...a blessing. Dama, I want you to be happy. Losing Kormak was a terrible blow, but it can also be an opportunity. It worries me that you've found someone so quickly, and..."

"I think Albrikt, that you are trying to grow up and be responsible for me too quickly as well." She understood his trepidations all too well, he had honest, mature reservations. She would have the same if their roles were reversed, but it didn't matter. "Albrikt, this is the one time when I'm actually going to act like a Norn. This is the man I want, he wants me." His letters made that part all too clear as well. They'd give it some time after his novice training was over, just to be certain, but oddly, she had no doubts.

"Dama, you have to understand." The cow thumped against Damaris, and she shuffled to regain her footing, pushing back against the large animal. "I feel responsible. I sent you out there and told you to find a husband. If you rush because of that, then I _am_ responsible."

"I am not rushing..." Well, that was a lie, and she knew that all too well. "Damnit, Albrikt, I had very fine young men all over Hoelbrak falling over themselves to turn my eye after I won the Great Hunt and..."

"Wait...what?"

"I won the Great Hunt." It still sounded stupidly unreal to say it. "It was a fluke, honestly, but just try to tell Whitebear that. So that's why I'm out here, doing this for Hoelbrak. But...again, after that, there were a lot of fine young men trying to get my attention. Sworn didn't have to _try_. Albrikt, I have to try. I have to be certain." She wanted that feeling again, the rightness of it back. That feeling that her life wasn't over, but just beginning. But she sensed that Albrikt would not understand that. "Tell me about the dredge in the area." She switched subjects, and he glared at her. She gazed back, firmly, giving him the same look as she'd given for years. It was the one that said she had made up her mind and wasn't going to be shifted, no matter what he did or said. He sighed, shrugged, and pushed the dolyak away.

"Many, many more of them than usual, Dama. And they're spending a lot more time on the surface." He frowned, and she nodded in agreement. That was odd. Dredge preferred to stay underground as much as possible. They were slow. Nearly blind. And completely ill suited to life out of their huge burrow complexes. Most of the troubles with them were random incursions, territorial issues, not full blown attacks on above ground targets. "They haven't come here...yet... why is Hoelbrak even aware of the threat?"

"They killed a Vigil patrol, and attacked the Durmand Priory outpost west of here. Both the Vigil and the Priory have gone to Hoelbrak for help."


End file.
